Poetry Performance This Sunday

I will be presenting some of my poetry this Sunday at Nashville's fifth annual Women's Work festival. Come and enjoy an afternoon of original poetry and spoken word presented by lovely lady poets!

Sunday, May 8, at 2:30 p.m.
Z. Alexander Looby Theater
Looby Branch Library
2301 Rosa L. Parks Blvd.
Nashville, TN
$5

For more information or to purchase tickets in advance, visit the Tennessee Women's Theater Project online.

Tennessean Covered Women's Work

The Tennessean ran a story on this month's Women's Work festival yesterday and I was lucky enough to be included in the piece!

National Poetry Month comes to a close

On this, the last day of National Poetry Month, I wanted to repost one of my answers to the question "Why write poetry?"

The Reason I Write Poetry

I notice things --
everything.

Then I get

lost in thought

about them --

why they're done,

how often

and by whom --

sometimes

at the most

inopportune times --

during a meeting

with a co-worker,

my tax advisor

or the dentist.

And then I feel

the need to

capture my thoughts

on paper --

so I won't forget them.

And, on most days,

I have just enough

arrogance

to share what I've

put into writing

with someone else,

perhaps to validate

that I'm, in fact, alive.

Brand New Poetry Chapbook Out Today

My fourth chapbook, a collection of tea and coffee poems co-authored by my friend and fellow poet Randy Foster, is available as of today!  Sugar and Spice and Nothing That's Nice: Where Bitter Meets Sweet features naughty and nice pieces about caffeinated beverages that will have you buzzing with delight!  To find out how you can purchase your copy of Sugar and Spice, contact me at hall_amy_e@hotmail.com.  Drink well!

Poached by an Egg

Finished the last of
the hard-boiled eggs
this morning and
stabbed my thumb --
the shell shards
actually drawing blood.
I never knew
Easter eggs could
be so violent.

Happy National Poetry Month!

In honor of National Poetry Month, I'm rerunning an oldie, but a goodie.

When I Read a Good Poem

When I read a good poem,
I hold
each
word
for a
moment
in my mouth
before
---- moving
on to the next one, like
one
bite
of creme brulee
after
another.

Women's Work 2011

I've been invited to present my poetry at the fifth annual Women's Work festival on Sunday, May 8th. More details to come!

(talking to herself)

talking to herself
two stalls down -- no Bluetooth
headset in sight

Vowels and Bowels

I hate it when

you know you're

going to have to

poop soon, but not yet,

and you're on your way

to work

(or a court date

or a TV interview).

You know it's coming

soon, but you don't know

how soon.

You could be

in the middle of a

sentence in meeting

when, suddenly,

your stomach begins

to churn and

your bowels begin

to burn.

You can't always

escape to a restroom

the moment you need one.

You try to smile and

continue your interview

(or conference call

or cross examination)

with some modicum

of decorum, but

all you can think of is

"POOP!"

All you want to do

is find a nice,

secluded stall

and let it fly.

Instead, you're stuck

in a light brown room

expected to string turds

(I mean words)

together intelligently

with a pile

(I mean smile).

(such a young woman)

such a young woman
wearing such an old fragrance

While Listening to Julie Lee's "The Other Half"

Which version do you like best?

(original version)

I got chills
when I heard
your voice.
And then my eyes
began to water.
A tiny firework
went off
in my heart.
And then
the muted trumpet
came in.
I closed my eyes
and got lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(alternate version)

The sparse
guitar work
set the mood.
I took a deep breath.
And then
the muted trumpet
came in.
I got chills
from my shoulders
to my ankles
when I heard your voice.
My eyes
began to water
and a tiny
firework
exploded somewhere
in my chest.
I shook my head,
closed my eyes
and got lost.

You can check out Julie Lee's music here.

Untimely Departure (Cat Got Your Dung)

Sometimes
Mother Nature calls
at the most
inopportune times.
I get up early
so that I can
get to work early.
But Mother Nature
interrupts my plan
with an exit strategy
of her own.
Once I honor her urging
and take a seat,
just a few moments
into our session,
she decides to be
difficult and stubborn.
My extra minutes

waste away

and my momentum slows
to a screeching
halt.

I will not be

early today
thanks to the delay
down under.
I am stalled
and stuck
and stationed
on the stool
for as long as it takes
for Mother Nature
to drop her kids off
at the pool.
And eventually,
once I finally
arrive at work,
I search for a
truthful, yet tactful
explanation for my
late state of affairs.
I could say,
"Traffic was stuck;
nothing was moving."
But, I settle on
"an urgent call
from my mother"
and leave it at that.

The Hall Sisters: Circa 1994

We knew our

whole world

was about to change.

I cried the entire

four-hour trip

to campus

and the two of you

held each other
in the living room

all morning.

We were

letting go of life

as we knew it,

knowing that we

would survive

the changes ahead
but not knowing
exactly how.

We had been together

all of our lives --

through every move,

in every new house

and every new city.

We shared friends and

hobbies and teachers.

Now we would be

in different states

with 207 miles between us.

I opened your letters

like beautifully

wrapped packages

and read each one

between nose blowing

and cheek dabbing.

I think I used

an entire box

of Kleenex

driving up to Michigan,

thankful that I didn't

decide to go to school

in Portland.

Just One of Those Things

It's strange --
funny, really --

that one

woman can

walk into

the restroom,

lock her

stall door,

create a

mammoth sound

from one

tiny hole,

and walk

out of

the bathroom
in silence.

Holy Sit

When I take my seat
in the bathroom,

I am participating

in one of the most basic,

yet marvelous

human functionalities.

We have been created

with a remarkable

self-cleaning service.

(Who but a master

designer would have

conceived of this?)

So, when I sit

on the john and

take a dump,

something holy

is happening.

I am at once

connected to the

brother and sister hoods

of the earth

and to God.

Jitters

It didn't last long.
And I'm sure

the sterile, hospital-

flavored walls and

floors didn't help.

The java joint's decor

was more akin

to a church

romper room

than a hip, cozy hang.

Failures aside,

every time I pass

that office space

in my college town,

I remember the

Styrofoam cups of

espresso I drank there

with my rock

band buddies

as we played

Uno and laughed

'til closing time.

(orange passion fruit)

orange, passion fruit;

jasmine green tea -- like sipping

sunshine in a cup

Fresh and in the Can

Sometimes I just know
a poem's about to drop.
It's a feeling not unlike
the feeling I get
when my bowels are about
to move -- a bottoming out
type of sensation
that tells me
I better find
a piece of paper
(or a toilet) fast
because something's
about to plop out.
Sometimes I get that
nervous panicky feeling
when it's "time"
and I can't seem
to find any paper
(or a toilet).
My breathing gets shallow,
my armpits begin to sweat
and my mouth gets dry.

Ever notice that a
delayed delivery
results in nothing but
a constipated effort later?
The more it's postponed,
the more plugged up it gets.
It's better to let nature
take its course
while the urge is fresh.
Things move a lot

more freely that way.

Fortunately, more
times than not,
I find what I need
just in time
to avoid a blockage.

The Reason I Write Poetry

I notice things --
everything.

Then I get

lost in thought

about them --

why they're done,

how often

and by whom --

sometimes

at the most

inopportune times --

during a meeting

with a co-worker,

my tax advisor

or the dentist.

And then I feel

the need to

capture my thoughts

on paper --

so I won't forget them.

And, on most days,

I have just enough

arrogance

to share what I've

put into writing

with someone else,

perhaps to validate

that I'm, in fact, alive.

(As she entered the)

As she entered the

ladies' restroom, I whispered,

"I didn't do it."

The Mayan Mocha

Like Pop Rocks --
starts out sweet
and explodes in your mouth

Baptismal Brew

I've been told
that I behave like
Satan's handmaiden
before I have my
morning coffee.
My emotions
do a demon drop,
my fingertips
begin to itch
and my head spins around
like the bride of Chucky.
After the first few sips
of the redemptive brew,
I am baptized
into new life
or, at least,
a new day.

Cryptic Residents

On bad days,
apartment living
can feel like life
in a mausoleum.
Sandwiched in between
crumby people,
you're stuck in a
slot above and
below folks that
you don't know.
Some days stink
more than others.
Some days you have
grave concerns
about your neighbors.
Other days, you're
dead wrong about them.
Every so often you
may be scared stiff.
Occasionally, you can
rest in peace,
knowing that
the days will pass
without too much
heartache.

Tough Stuff

I know life is hard
and that things can be
particularly rough
in the bathroom.
But do you really need
to vocally testify
to your difficulty
in the office restroom?
There is such a thing
as quiet desperation.
I wish for you a
silent elimination,
and for myself,
emancipation
from your proclamation.

(hearing the big blast)

hearing the big blast,
grateful I exited the
ladies room intact

(trailing the attorney)

trailing the attorney
choking on the perfume
I wore in high school

(IT programmer)

IT programmer
digging for major boogers

in his cubicle

Seasonal Criminals

There's something about
summertime sandals --

they're too much

to handle

when it comes to

the stench that

sweaty feet and

leather create.

My nostrils don't

celebrate or salivate about

the smell that emanates

from the partnership

that perpetrates

heinous crimes
against olfactory.

Dreamboats That Pass in the Night

Last night I dreamt
that you were into me.
Out of the blue,
you knew what to do
to influence me.
Truth is, we're married
to other people
and I've never thought
of you like that before.
Somehow last night's dream
opened up some subconscious door.
This morning I saw you
at your desk and felt
a strange connection.
It'll pass in a few days,
just like the indignation
and exasperation
I felt toward the
co-worker I once dreamt
cheated on his wife
with my little sister.

Friday Afternoon Fever

It's amazing how creative
one can be when
procrastinating.
On Friday afternoon
at 3:17, my co-workers
and I walk around
like lost children,
shifting from desk,
to break room,
to bathroom,
to the god-forsaken
basement
(in extreme cases).
Non-smokers consider
taking up nicotine
as they watch the smokers
congregate under the trees.
"That doesn't look half
bad," my manager quips
as he observes the
addicts' 15 minutes of
freedom
"on the outside."
Back at our desks, we
try to drum up small
talk about
The Golden Girls,
The Office, and
Saturday Night Live;
then return to our
monitors for more
Web surfing.
The neighbor in the
cube next door mutters,
"It feels like we've been
here for six days…
and that's just since
eight o'clock."
Eventually, five o'clock
will arrive, saving us from
overdoses on bad coffee,
stale corn chips and
shoddy Web sites.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #8

What do you call five
year olds with gentle green thumbs?
Tendergardeners.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #7

What do tomatoes
and kindergartners have in
common? Cut and paste.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #6

birth from the earth, red
as placenta, inside the
new life -- tiny seeds

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #5

earth MATERial
symbol of MATERnity
red MATÉRiel

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #4

Launch me in the air
but watch your back. I'll turn you
red when I go splat.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #3

I am weaponry
like snowballs and grenades but
make tastier raids.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #2

Stew wined and dined her
even though Brandy was a
bit dicey that day.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #1

Brandy was green with
envy -- Stew inherited
the favored heirloom.

Tomato Haiku Contest - Last Day to Enter

All entries for the Hot Tomato Haiku Contest are due by 11:59 p.m. today. The grand prize winner will receive an iPad! May the best MATERial win!

(I held my breath.)

I held my breath.
Lunch was unkind to the
previous pooper.

(woman in the stall)

woman in the stall

next to me smacking her gum

like a three year old

(birth from the earth, red)

birth from the earth, red
as placenta, inside the
new life -- tiny seeds

Nashville's Hottest Haiku Contest

It's tomato time again! Consider entering the Tomato Art Fest's third annual Hot Tomato Haiku Contest. The results promise to be juicy!

To Serve and Observe

The life of a security guard
must be fascinating --
becoming intimately
acquainted with
everyone's comings

and goings,

learning who loves
to race the sun
to work every morning
and who tends to
push the snooze button
seven times too many,
who runs out for an
afternoon soy latte
every day or a "secret"
rendezvous with

Veronica or Vinny.

Some may say that
your security guard
knows you better
than you know yourself.
Rather than your own
self-justified, rose-colored
glasses, he only sees you
through the clear lens
of the revolving door.

(wicked rump rupture)

wicked rump rupture
shocking as acupuncture
ladies’ room juncture

(What do you call five)

What do you call five
year olds with gentle green thumbs?
Tendergardeners.

(What do tomatoes)

What do tomatoes

and kindergartners have in

common? Cut and paste.

Logging Lab Time

I was just another
experiment
to you --

just another
vial of blood
to spin in your

laboratory machine.

You were only interested

in the raw data --

the results of your

scientific investigation.

You invested time into

our relationship

so that you could

observe and analyze

the case study

sleeping next to you.

But I was more than
anatomy, biology

and chemistry.

I was more than

eyes and hips and lips.

My heart beat with

real emotion and

sincere love for you.

I realized way too late

that you saw me

through the eyes
of a doctor,

not a lover.

I guess that's why

you were so

cold and calculating.

You saw me as mere

research --
another lab rat --

just another
opportunity

to log in some lab time.

The Post-Vacation Blues (Salvation by Strawberries)

Today, my cubicle
feels like a cage.
I want to be
five hundred and
thirty-seven miles
away, sitting in my
favorite coffee shop
with a caramel latte
in one hand and
a book in the other.
I want to be in
the home of my
alma mater with
the one I love,
chasing sunsets
and sailboats and
strawberry Sundays.

(sitting on the pot)

sitting on the pot
in a strange town -- suddenly
all the lights go out

Power Conservation

He's the kinda guy that
makes your skin crawl
right into the corner.
He's a short man,
good-looking,
but way too cocky.
After surviving
the creeps that
linger in the air
next to my booth
after he finishes
his lunchtime greeting,
I kinda feel sorry
for the guy.
He clearly has
Short Man syndrome --
he works way too
hard to be confident,
suffocating the
great guy that
lies beneath his
attempts at suave-a-tude.
I consider forgoing
my reading booth lunch routine
just to avoid one more
unsolicited stroll-by,
but decide to favor
my pity for the fool
rather than my revulsion.

(first firefly of)

first firefly of
the season -- almost as bright
as the light in your eyes

Confessional

I have a taste
for the dark side.
And my two-fisted
drink preparation
gives me away
every time.

I make it a double,
now that one
simply doesn’t
cut it anymore.
My tolerance has
increased, as has
my thirst.

Does that make me
a junkie,
an addict?
Perhaps.

I’m not ashamed
of my need
for that extra shot.
It makes the day
tolerable,
worth living,
and I’m not afraid
to admit it.

You want me to
own up to the truth
for my
own good?

Well, fine.
I’ll shout it
from the rooftops.

I’VE TAKEN TO STEEPING
TWO TEA BAGS AT ONCE!

Thank You

Thanks to all of you who attended Women's Work Sunday night. Special thanks to Annie, Randy and Rebecca for their support!

Women's Work Tonight

I hope to see you tonight at Women's Work. This festival, sponsored by the Tennessee Women's Theater Project, is one of my favorite events of the year. Every mother will receive a free rose! Join us!

Sunday, May 9, at 5:30 p.m.
Z. Alexander Looby Theater
Looby Branch Library
2301 Rosa L. Parks Blvd.
Nashville, TN
$5

Poet Hunt Contest

I just mailed my submission for The MacGuffin's 15th National Poet Hunt Contest. The winners will be announced in September. As always, any good news will be posted here. Feeling lucky, gutsy or needy? Why not submit your own poems? Best of luck to all!

In the words of John Shore, "Believe you’re a genius. Hey, someone’s gotta be. Why not you? And it’s surely not your goal to be a mediocre writer, is it? Believe you’ve got a unique, valuable, indispensable, irreplaceable voice. Because you do."

Poetry Performance at Women's Work

I will be sharing some of my poetry next Sunday at Nashville's fourth annual Women's Work festival. Come and enjoy an evening of original poetry and spoken word presented by lovely lady poets!

Sunday, May 9, at 5:30 p.m.
Z. Alexander Looby Theater
Looby Branch Library
2301 Rosa L. Parks Blvd.
Nashville, TN
$5

For more information or to purchase tickets, visit the Tennessee Women's Theater Project online.

Women's Work 2010

I've been invited to present my poetry at the fourth annual Women's Work festival on May 9th. Stay tuned for more details!

Out Today: Newspaper Blackout

Today is the day! Austin Kleon's debut, Newspaper Blackout -- a book in which I ALMOST had a poem published -- is available in stores everywhere. I can't wait to hold a copy in my hands!

Poached by an Egg

Finished the last of
the hard-boiled eggs
this morning and
stabbed my thumb --
the shell shards
actually drawing blood.
I never knew
Easter eggs could
be so violent.

Newspaper Blackout Poem Print Giveaway

As the release of Austin Kleon's Newspaper Blackout nears, Kleon is offering another great newspaper blackout poem print giveaway. (I've already got my "name in the hat" -- twice.) Read more here and good luck!

The Virgin Mary

To Mary Karr

I read about your
childhood rape experience
during lunch today.
I wanted to scream,
"No! Stop the little bastard!"
or "Run!" or
"I am so, so sorry."
I had to put the
book down
in order to
keep myself from
running down the
aisles of the cafe,
shaking the book
in the air and yelling,
"She's only SEVEN!"

I wanted to snatch
that little girl up
out of the book
and into my arms.
I wanted to
tell your daddy
and the rapist's
father about the crime
while I had them
in the same room
and let the chips
fall as they may.
Instead, I closed
the book and
stared at my
chicken lo mein
while the lunch crowd
erupted around me.

(Reading about the)

Reading about the
rape of a seven-year-old
girl -- stunned, sad and pissed.

Work Out Your “Bowelvation” With Rear End Trembling

There are few things
more satisfying
than a good poop.
Not the poop itself,
of course, but
the act of
eliminating
the dogged doodie.
After a good dump,
all seems right
with the world
(or at least
with your bowels).
You can breathe
deep again
and leave the can
with your shoulders back,
ready to take on
the next meeting,
class or diaper,
knowing that,
in the end,
things have a way of
working out.

Here's to Hoping

In a matter of days, the winner of Alimentum's inaugural poetry contest will be announced. I am waiting, with great hope for a good word. Regardless of the outcome, I will soon focus my energies on the next contest, The MacGuffin's 15th National Poet Hunt Contest. Keep hope alive!

(standing at the sink in the ladies’ room)

standing at the sink in the ladies’ room –
through the wall to the men’s room,
hearing things I don’t want to hear

The Lord Giveth and His People Taketh Away

You threw me away
like an unwanted fetus.
I was too much trouble,
too much hassle,
too inconvenient.
I didn’t fit into your
busy, respectable life.
I was too big of a
problem to fit into your
Bible-themed day planner.
Jesus said that God cares
for even the pigeons,
but you don’t have
a second more for me.
You ripped me out of a
warm womb, my heart
still beating, with “Christian”
forceps so cold and a
glare so glazed
they would make
any abortionist wince.

Chem Lesson

Tuesday night, I entered The Hermitage Hotel's Valentine's Day Poetry Contest. I dusted off and submitted "Chem Lesson," a piece that I wrote as a graduating senior at Hope College in 1998. As always, any good news will be posted here.

I smooth my palm into
the dip between your
rib and hip bone
on the side facing
the ceiling. The tip top
of your big tip toe
makes my index finger
smile. The two interact,
as if old friends meeting
for the first time. Sometimes
there’s a connection
that happens between
body and soul, like
DNA at work or
the saving chemicals
that form antibiotic.

"The Food Show" Reading

I am planning to attend the Alimentum reading at Cumberland Gallery tomorrow night. For those in the Nashville area, come on out! Details here.

Folks

Roommates are strangers
who become friends
who become family.

Family members are roommates
who become friends
who are strange.

Exes are friends
who become family
who become strangers.

Note: Originally, this poem was separated into three pieces (Folks #1, Folks #2 and Folks #3). These days, I often read the three together as one piece (Folks) at poetry events.

Wilco Haiku Contest Winners Announced

Sadly, I was not named among the winners. See the lucky folks' winning pieces here. Congrats to those fine, minimalist poets!

(new year)

new year
new courage
fresh as the snow

Miles Davis on tap
grape juice in the stereo
a New Year's Eve day

Christmas cat –
bedside greeting
begins with a pounce

I Love Snow

for Julie

I remember
the Christmas
that you and I
mended our friendship.
You wore a
cool, retro
fur coat
and we walked to
the park across
the street from
Debbie's house.
That night we
laughed and sang
about snow
with the Christmas
lights shining
behind us
and the future bright;
ahead of us.

Common Round (Rumpster Dumpsters "R" Us)

Taking a dump is a noisy occupation.
One cannot poop with dignity or decorum.
Your Ph.D., LL.D., M.A. or B.A.
amounts to a pile of B.S. when it comes to BMs.
On the throne, we are all the same –
all princes, all paupers, all poopers.
Sure, our performances may differ –
some may grunt, moan, sigh or groan –
but the delivery is the same.
And it's not pretty.
There's nothing cute
about dropping a load.
There's nothing suave
about pinching a loaf.
There's nothing dapper about the crapper.
But we've got to doo what we've got to doo.
On the john or on the loo, we are all average Joes
and Jane Does and that's just the way it goes.

Haiku:2008 Has Arrived!

My third annual haiku chapbook, Haiku:2008 --- For the Record, is hot off the press, just in time for the holidays! If you'd like to order a copy of Haiku:2008 (or Haiku:2007 or Haiku:2006, for that matter), please contact me at hall_amy_e@hotmail.com.

Rob Bell Event Tonight

This evening, I will hear author Rob Bell (Velvet Elvis, et al.) speak.

Forthcoming Haiku Chapbook

My third annual haiku project, Haiku:2008 -- For the Record, is currently at the printer and should be available any day now. The "arrival" announcement will be posted here pronto!

Wilco Haiku Contest Entry #4

A summer morning
birth -- I felt as blue as a
ghost just being there.

Wilco Haiku Contest Entry #3

Summer trots by like
a ghost as I watch TV
live in Chicago.

Wilco Haiku Contest Entry #2

kicking the ghost out
of my hotel room into
the blue summer sky

Wilco Haiku Contest Entry #1

The band Wilco recently held a haiku contest, calling for Wilco-related pieces. I submitted four haiku featuring material from their seven album titles. Special thanks to my friend Matt Scott, who informed me of the contest. As always, any good news I receive will be reported here. Entry one of four:

sinking my teeth in-
to blue Yankee sky on a
cool summer morning

Suitable Expansion

As soon as I read the headline for this story, I knew there was a newspaper blackout poem to be found. So, with thanks to Austin Kleon, and in the spirit of the holidays, overeating and stretch pants, I present "Suitable Expansion" (with text below for ease of reading).

Suitable Expansion

A Chinese buffet eater
cannot seem to stop.
"I threw out my suits."
He cannot seem to contain
his praise for their products.
"At the beginning,
we were small.
Little by little,
we were opening up
to a group of tailors
to expand."

Thanksgiving Traffic

Three miles in an
hour and a half --
bumper-to-bumper
interstate congestion and
stomach indigestion,
angry drivers with
hungry kids, no
exit in sight, and
no explanation.
Arrivals delayed;
hugs and hand-
shakes on hold;
dinners postponed.
It was easy to get
irritated and impatient,
until we saw
the white sheet
on the ground.
Suddenly, we were
thankful for the
fume-filled air that
we were breathing.

Thanksgiving Haiku Trouble

Which do you like best?

Thanksgiving voicemail
greeting: Leave us a message,
you turkey. Gobble!

++++++++++++++++++++

Thanksgiving voicemail
greeting: Leave me a message,
you turkey. "Chow" now!

++++++++++++++++++++

Thanksgiving voicemail
greeting: Leave me a message,
you turkey. Chow; ciao!

++++++++++++++++++++

Thanksgiving voicemail
greeting: Leave a message, you
turkey. "Chow" for now!

Great Expectations

Not only am I excited to hear Donald Miller speak tonight, I just submitted the last of three pieces to Alimentum's poetry contest. Good times ahead!

Donald Miller Event

Tomorrow evening I will hear New York Times best-selling author Donald Miller speak. Miller wrote Blue Like Jazz (a personal favorite), among others.

New Poetry Contest

This morning I submitted the first of three entries to Alimentum's inaugural poetry contest. You can be sure that I will post any good news I receive here!

(concert interrupt-)

concert interrupt-
ed by a sewage backup,
attendees aflush

(little did I know)

little did I know
that would be our last goodbye
no hug, no kiss, gone

(She either just cut)

She either just cut
the cheese or just unzipped a
REALLY big briefcase!

How My Sister Discovered That I Was in Love with Her Best Friend

"You would NEVER
do that for me," she said
in a huff, half shocked;
half outraged after learning
that I had treated J.J.'s
soup bowl like an underwater
hunting expedition --
navigating around the
diced carrots and potatoes,
green bean cuts, petite
peas, navy beans and
conchiglie to fish out
the kidney beans
that J.J. despised
so much. I shrugged
my shoulders, smiled
and stared at the floor
for a few seconds until
J.J. changed the subject,
wondering if we would
see snow that night.

(startled by twin burps)

startled by twin burps --
the secret belcher hidden
in his cubicle

Drawing for Limited Edition Newspaper Blackout Poem Print

If you'd like a shot at winning a signed, limited-edition print of one of artist/writer Austin Kleon's newspaper blackout poems, head over to his site and make a comment on the giveaway post! The deadline is Monday, Oct. 26, at midnight CT. I've already entered, myself!

Southern Festival of Books

Downtown Nashville hosts the 21st annual Southern Festival of Books this weekend. I'm especially excited about Alimentum's sessions, entitled "The Poetry of Food," to be held around lunchtime today and tomorrow. I recently discovered Alimentum, a fabulous literary journal that features poems and short stories that celebrate food (whether directly or indirectly). Rich, wonderful stuff, indeed. Join me tomorrow from 1 to 2 p.m. at the foot of the State Capitol, Charlotte Ave. and Sixth Ave. N.!

Spice by the Spoonfuls

The Hungarian mushroom
soup I had at lunch
today reminded me of
Till Midnight, the
tiny cafe across
the street from
my alma mater.
I went there
once or twice as
a student, unable
to afford more
than soup, dessert
and the spicy jazz fusion
piping through the speakers.

Fall Writing Workshop

Today I attended CWW's fall writing workshop, "The Unbridled Pen," featuring author Michael Martone and cowboy poet Peggy Godfrey.

(Schlep)

Schlep --
her mouth uses it in conversation;
her feet use it for transportation.

Hot Tomato Haiku Contest Entry #9

"Pick me," she whispered,
longing for his strong, kind hands;
flesh ripe for his touch.